Jeremy pulled up sharply in front of the main house, a load of gidgee fence posts he’d cut that day in the back of the ute. The cloud of dust from his tyres drifted up the veranda steps and made its way into the kitchen, where it hung for a while in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight. Olive frowned in annoyance as she watched the particles settle on the floor, which was still damp from a recent mopping.
Sam, sitting at the table with his paper and cup of tea, eyed the full load of posts through the open door with pleasure. ‘He’s a hard worker, that kid.’
‘Well, for someone who was in such a hurry when he pulled up, he’s managed to find the time to stickybeak.’ Olive could see Jeremy still sitting in the ute, looking over to the yard where Alice was engaged in conversation with a young man.
‘Why don’t you sit down to chop those onions, Liv. Give your old legs a rest.’
‘My legs are fine, thank you, Samuel,’ Olive snapped.
‘Nothing wrong with your eyes either,’ Sam muttered, turning the page of his paper as Olive leaned forward to peer again at the pair near the yard.
A cocky tread on the wooden steps eventually heralded the entrance of Jeremy. He stood in the doorway looking extremely grubby. ‘Afternoon, all.’
‘Come in and sit down, mate. There’s tea in the pot. Good effort for one day’s work.’ Sam indicated the gidgee posts with a wave of his cup.
‘Cold beer would go down nicely.’ Jeremy grinned at Olive’s disapproving face. ‘Don’t worry, old girl. I’m taking off me boots.’
Sam poured him a cup of tea and pushed the biscuit jar towards him.
‘Ta.’ Jeremy dunked his ginger biscuit, took a bite then started to speak with his mouth full. ‘I see Clive Lonergan’s truck over at the yard. New bull come today?’
‘Yep.’
‘Thought you were picking him up tomorrow.’
‘That was the plan, but Clive rang this morning to say they’d deliver.’
‘Bit out of their way, isn’t it? Is that one of his ringers talking to Alice?’
Olive jumped in. ‘No, that’s the Lonergans’ eldest son, Walter.’
‘What, Wingnut Wally? Is he old enough to drive?’
‘He’s nineteen. Six months older than Alice.’
‘So, is he doing a line for her or what?’
‘They often have a chat after church. He seems quite keen on her. Not that it’s any concern of yours.’ Olive continued with her chopping.
‘Bloody hell, a bible-bashing bull breeder with big flappers. Not a feature you wanna breed on in your great-grandkids.’
Sam’s newspaper shook with silent mirth, but Olive turned to glare indignantly. ‘At least Walter has some manners. And he’s very handsome, even if his ears are on the large side.’
‘Good old Ma, make the best of a bad job. Might go along with extra-good hearing, I guess. That’s always handy in the bush.’ Jeremy winked at Sam.
Olive halted her chopping, turned to face Jeremy and put her hands on her hips in exasperation. ‘I’ll have you know that Alice is more interested in what’s inside a person than what’s on the outside. She knows not to judge a book by its cover. What is it you always say, Sam? You just never know what’s under a hat.’
Jeremy was unabashed. ‘Well, we all know what’s under his, they bloody stick out like dog’s bal—’
But Olive cut in, with a sharp edge in her voice, ‘I think you’d better go now, Jeremy.’
‘Good idea, I’ll go and give my regards to Wing . . . Wally.’ Jeremy sculled his tea and stood up.
‘How about you leave that young pair alone, and go and shower off before tea?’ Olive was now heartily regretting making him leave.
‘Hell, do I stink that bad? Hey, do you reckon Wally’s in with a chance?’
Olive sighed, the fight gone out of her. ‘With Alice, who would know? She’s a dark horse, that one.’
‘Tell me about it. I have to work with her. But there’s no need to be racist. You of all people, Mrs Day.’ Jeremy shook his head melodramatically as he left the room, picked up his boots with a sweeping bow and walked down the stairs in his holey socks.
‘Don’t say anything, Samuel.’ Olive returned to her onions and began to chop again with gusto.
Jeremy’s weekend jaunts to town continued despite Olive’s fierce disapproval. But as Sam explained to her, they had no right to hold him there over the weekend. As long as he showed up for work on a Monday at the usual time, it was none of their business what else he got up to. And show up he always did. Sometimes he arrived home late Sunday night and at other times not till dawn on Monday morning. As a rule he was quieter and paler than usual for that day, but he never shirked his duty or avoided pulling his weight. This pattern continued as the weeks went by. Only once did he try to invite Alice to accompany him to town. On Valentine’s Day.
As the day approached, Jeremy was well aware that many of the girls in town were nursing a hope that they would be his chosen companion for the special evening. He decided to solve the dilemma by asking Alice. She certainly wouldn’t be expecting it. He wanted to boost her self-confidence and show her how to have a good time. Jeremy visualised her coy acceptance and her grandmother’s mortification. He could also picture the amazement of all the other girls in town when instead of going to the pub to select his chosen one for the evening, he took only Alice for a quiet bottle of wine next to the river.
On Redstone, the day itself passed without fanfare. Jeremy and Alice spent it converting another of the open bore drains. Sam had surrendered to this idea of Alice’s relatively easily, having been aware in the back of his mind for some years of how wasteful the open drains were. These structures spilled groundwater continuously into long trenches using the natural pressure from underground. They became overgrown with prickly bushes and roly-poly burr and were a playground for feral pigs. Jeremy and Alice had been systematically replacing them with valved troughs and poly pipe, which meant that the water was refilled only when needed.
Late in the afternoon, dirty and tired, they pulled up in the shed and started to unload the ute.
‘Alice, do you know what the date is?’ Jeremy began, mysteriously.
‘Not sure,’ she answered. ‘Ask Ma, she always keeps track of it.’
‘It’s Valentine’s Day, you duffer.’ He looked at her significantly.
‘Oh, I guess you’ll be trekking off to town tonight then. Ma will be pleased!’ Alice laughed.
‘Well actually, I thought I might take you with me, Ali. Will you be my valentine?’ He waited for a blush and smile, but she didn’t even skip a beat in her unloading.
‘Very funny, Jeremy.’
He was a little taken aback but not at all put off. They were nearly finished in the shed now and she was about to head over to the house.
‘You think I’m joking? Don’t think much of yourself, do you, Alice? I’m serious, I want you to come with me tonight.’ He was more insistent this time.
‘So I can sit and watch while you and your friends drink yourselves into a stupor?’ She stopped to look at him.
He patiently explained his romantic river plan, at which her voice softened a little. ‘That’s really sweet of you. But I’m going straight to bed as soon as I’ve had tea.’
Jeremy wasn’t overly concerned. He should have known she’d be all prim and proper to start with. So all he said was, ‘I’ll pick you up in forty minutes.’
At the stated time, instead of waltzing in through the open kitchen doors as usual, Jeremy went around to the front door, which no one but the bank manager and stock agents ever used. He knocked smartly, wondering if Olive would open it to lecture him on Valentine’s Day protocol. After a pause it swung open, and there stood Alice, comfortably clad in her pyjamas, her hair wet from the shower. She reminded him of a sleepy child, looking up at him with her large eyes, little wet ringlets in front of her ears. She looked a little guilty.
‘Jeremy, you didn’t really think I was going to come with you?’
‘Well, yeah, actually, mug that I am.’ He looked at her sulkily. Then he added, ‘I can wait if you wanna chuck some clothes on.’
‘I meant it when I said I was going to bed.’ She spoke quietly but firmly.
Jeremy felt a wave of hurt anger go through him. The fact that he knew it was unjustified only made him more annoyed. ‘Do you realise that I could ask any other girl in town and they’d fall over themselves to come out with me?’
‘That’s good then. Why don’t you go and do that, and let me go to bed?’ She smiled up at him kindly.
He was flabbergasted. To ease his indignation he replied roughly, ‘I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna get pissed, and then I’m gonna find meself a gorgeous sheila.’ He stopped to assess the result.
Alice was examining his face with a musing, distant expression, her head slightly cocked as though studying a portrait. Jeremy tried to read the expression. It certainly wasn’t the shock he’d been hoping for. He had a horrible suspicion she was actually pitying him. This girl was maddening.
‘A real hot sheila with a set of nice hooters,’ he added for extra effect.
With this final sting he looked down at Alice’s flat chest under the faded purple of her thin cotton pyjamas. All at once he was reminded of the swathes of winter mist that used to cling to the small conical hills he’d seen from his bedroom window as a child. Unearthly.
‘Now I’m really losing the plot,’ he cursed himself internally.
Alice followed his gaze and looked down at her own chest. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘I’ve hit a sore point.’ He searched her face again for the hurt he expected to see there. But as she raised her lashes, he was startled to see eyes dancing with laughter.
All she said was, ‘I’m surprised you wanted me to come out with you then.’
Her amusement was infectious and he found himself grinning stupidly. Her absence of vanity baffled and disarmed him.
Then all at once he found himself looking at the faded ornate timber design on the outside of the closed door. Soundlessly she’d gone. She was infuriating. Bewildering. Enough to drive a man to drink. A man – or a foolish boy? Why did she make him question his manhood and feel like an insecure child? King Jed, renowned rodeo clown, life of the party. Hunky Jed, every girl’s favourite. And he’d been turned down by shy Alice Wilson.